The Position of the Dreamer

Dreams must have some
magnetic correlation
with the Earth's axial symmetry.
With my spine parallel
to lines of latitude
I have long dreams
so detailed
that they trick me upon awaking.
I feel as if my eyes never really closed
and that all those in my dreams
live them as if they were day.
It's odd to believe in this realism,
but often times I do.
I begin asking people
about their past midnight fraternity,
only to stop myself
realizing: twas only just a dream.

Perpendicular to other nights,
I dream in indulgent fantasies.
These wonders
run straight across
my resting field of vision,
and I wake up
longing to chase them-
almost never do I get my way.
It is my hope,
upon the shrugging off of these dreams,
that nobody else
dreams the same.
In my attempt
to let these savory scenes slip away,
I become obsessed
and soon believe in anything.

Anytime that my head
rests at an odd angle to the rest of the Earth
and my feet dangle off my bed,
I can be assured a nightmare.
I am neither locked into position
to receive a comfortable chimera
nor am I set up to tease myself.
It is on these nights
when my pillow
becomes my life preserver
and sleep a bottomless black ocean.

Blind Reconnaissance

Without sunlight as a guide,
time passes in texture.
The wrinkles
in his watch grow deeper,
and the man knows more
by them.

Reflections pass by
as heat radiation;
in this way
he knows people passing.

Through his liver spotted ears
time still echoes,
but it comes with delay.
Sounds take time
to shape into beings.

With cracked lips
and a white dry tongue
the man speaks a name.
He knows whom to call by scent,
and the particular gait
of footsteps.

He is precise.
The opacity blocking his sight
is the very blueprint for his world.
A map gridded in by sound and smell,
and filled in by touch and taste,
guides his way.